


And Truth Will Be Like A Parade

by littlescienceybits (Gemz0rz)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (because HYDRA are shits - surprise), (not that kind), F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Imajemmary Simmons makes several appearances, Jossed, Kidnapping, canon to s2:ep8, definitely a Fitzsimmons fic at the core, lots of POV shifts, nonconsensual drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemz0rz/pseuds/littlescienceybits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma is sent back out on an undercover op, Fitz is left to work on himself again. But this time he has to actively run backup for her. With the job mandating communication, there's no way that things can remain broken between them... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warmongerer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmongerer/gifts).



> Finished! (Finally.) Still considering a follow up one-shot. We'll see if it works out.
> 
> Title from Hawksley Workman's "You and the Candles."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the prologue. Subsequent chapters will be longer!

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

It was almost intimidating, stepping into Director Coulson's office. At one time he'd been the man who had cooked dinners with his shirtsleeves rolled up, soft jazz floating from her iPod dock while they speculated on HYDRA plots. Now he was this... untouchable figurehead, and the magnitude of what she knew he'd kept them all in the dark about was unsettling.

But he was still her commanding officer -- and besides, the damage was done. She cared for him. She cared for them all.

"Simmons. Take a seat." Bobbi made no move to vacate the other, so Jemma offered a nervous smile at her, sitting near the edge of the wooden chair. "I know you're not fond of undercover work --" An understatement, but she held her tongue, "-- but an opening has been made available, and we need to take it. Bobbi's got the experience, so I'd rather she take point, but we're going to need you there as backup."

"Backup?" she asked, the pitch of her voice rising a little as Coulson set a file down in front of her. She flipped it open to reveal a half dozen files on personnel, as well as blueprints and security rotations.

"The Committee on Environmental Regulations is missing an advisor." His smile was tired, but a win was a win these days, and this opportunity was ultimately of their own making -- even if it hadn't been their objective at the time. "You may remember Adrian Pellot, former HYDRA agent." She shook her head no, but he continued on.

"He's not important. The point is that his job has opened up, and we need to get someone on the inside." His hand went automatically to slide free the button on his suit jacket as he sat behind the heavy desk. "I have it on good authority that HYDRA is trying to infiltrate the President's inner circle. We need to know if they've succeeded, and if so, how far they've gotten."

"I'm sorry, I don't see why you --"

"I'm good, Jemma, but I'm no you," Bobbi piped up, warm and calm, as if she'd done this a hundred times.

 _She probably has_ , Jemma thought belatedly.

"I'm going to need someone there to quickly feed me research, steer me in biochem politics, that sort of thing. The idea is to bring you on as my assistant, to give you a built-in reason for being my shadow."

There it was. It did make sense, actually -- but that didn't do much to help ingratiate her to the idea. She'd become used to the danger of HYDRA after a while. Used to the thought of possibly being watched when she dropped her clothes at the dry cleaners, and the idea of the families behind the people she worked with who likely had no clue what their spouse/mother/father had dragged them into.

And she'd come back changed. She was still trying to catalogue all the ways how.

But it seemed this was inevitable. The explanation shut down all of her questions as to why it had to be her. Plus, she would have Bobbi on her side this time. As far as undercover ops went, it would be hard to be more safe.

Her smile was tight when she shut the file, tucking it beneath one arm for a much closer read sometime soon. She knew by now what duty looked like, and her chin raised a fraction of an inch as she turned her attention back to the Director.

"When do we leave?"


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's POV; first day at the office.

Her safehouse this time was a little different than the last. It was a high rise, for one. The doorman had been vetted -- Skye couldn't find anything beyond parking tickets on his record -- and the only downside was that she had to travel to the first floor for her morning run. The gym was more extensive, but she had simple tastes, and a good 20 minute jog was enough to clear her head.

Still, the butterflies were in full force for her first day on the job.

"...And this will be your office," the secretary informed her. Jemma thought it may have been a closet at one point, but she supposed she wouldn't need much room.

"That's just brilliant. I didn't get an office of my own during my last internship," she confided with a smile. Her time at HYDRA had taught her it was all about the relationships she could forge while she was here.

But the secretary -- Claire, she'd said -- seemed entirely disinterested.

"And that's it," she said, clicking her Bluetooth back on, the tour officially concluded. "You can meet Ms. Hunter in room 314. Take the elevator at the end of the hall to the third floor, turn left on your way out of those. It's in the east wing."

Jemma smiled, grateful for having been spared asking, and her heels clicked against the grey marble as she excused herself.

The elevator was a polished steel and blessedly empty, so it gave her the opportunity to check her reflection on the way down. She straightened her lapels and took a moment to make sure she didn't have lipstick on her teeth before stepping out, anchoring herself in her role.

Because this was who she was for an indefinite number of weeks. This Jemma Simmons had a fresh PhD under her belt. The only reason she couldn't have been considered for the job herself was her woefully inadequate understanding of the American legal system. (That much, at least, was true.) It was perfect, really; the explanation gave her leave to ask questions when it normally wouldn't have been appropriate.

For her part, it wasn't hard to be taken a little aback by Bobbi's presence when she knocked on the door, finding a senator already seated across from the woman. The newly-blonde agent cut a striking figure in black, somehow making plain look powerful, and Jemma found that the butterflies didn't lessen when she slipped her hand into Bobbi's to shake.

"You must be Dr. Simmons." Bobbi's recognition was blank, and Jemma faltered a moment at her mastery of reactions before pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Y-yes. Yes. Jemma. I mean -- you can call me Jemma, if you'd like."

The senator didn't bother to hide his amused smile, and Jemma managed to look properly abashed. This might be easier than she'd thought, if it was all like this.

"Barbara Hunter. Where in England are you from? I have a sister in the Cotswolds." Whatever Bobbi had been speaking with the senator about seemed leisurely enough to wait, and the man didn't show any sign of moving for the moment. She hardly blamed him; if he was the moth in this scenario, Bobbi was most certainly the flame. Luckily, it meant that whatever flicker had surely crossed her face at finally realising whose name Bobbi was using for her cover identity went unnoticed.

"Sheffield," she replied with the enthusiasm of an underling. "Quite different from here."

"Yes," Bobbi concurred, all charm and ease. Her desk drawer slid open soundlessly, and she fished a heavy file out, handing it over. "I'm afraid I'm going to need you to hit the ground running. These are the topics that are currently tabled, as well as the proposals that have been filed for next session. I figure it can't hurt to get a leg up."

"Of course," Jemma agreed quickly, gathering the files and taking a peek through the coloured tabs. She would figure out the coding system soon enough, she figured. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Bobbi smiled, pulling down her careful French twist.

"The tension gives me a headache," she explained, gently shaking her hair out over her shoulders. Jemma doubted that was the case, considering the way the senator took note.

"And I'm sure there are a dozen or so things you can help me with. However, I can't think of any off the top of my head, so I'll have to be in touch." It was a clear dismissal, and Jemma nodded, eager to get out and pore over the documents.

"Remember you have to dial 0 before my extension if you need to get in touch," Bobbi instructed, but Jemma just nodded, seeing how her attention had shifted back to the man in front of her desk.

That senator didn't stand a chance.  
  
* * * * * * * * *

That evening, she was taking a break from learning the building protocols, pulling on a pair of fuzzy socks when her phone lit up.

"It's no good, Simmons," Coulson sighed on the end of the line.

"Evening to you, too, Sir," she hummed, pointedly cheery.

"Hmm? Oh -- yes." The Director sounded distracted as ever, an observation that made more sense when she caught a distinct Scottish muffle on the end of the line. Her throat tightened a fraction, and Coulson’s voice startled her a bit when he spoke again.

“We have a small problem: the technology isn’t strong enough to read the documents.”

“The technology is plenty strong!” came a defensive voice in the background. Jemma had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep her smile in check. “You didn’t say the camera had to… had to….” She held her breath as Fitz continued. “Had to be print-accurate. ‘Spy cam’ can mean a lot of things!”

“We’re working on it here,” Coulson assured Jemma, sounding harangued. She wondered when he’d slept last. For all the platitudes that he was doing better, she hadn’t seen much proof before she’d left. It seemed like everyone needed downtime -- repair time, personal time, whatever you wanted to call it -- that they weren't getting.

“Okay,” she agreed too quickly, ready to be in Fitz’s corner if she needed to be. It was half instinct and half atonement – but she would always be on his side, whatever the reason.

“Tell her it might be a few days,” Fitz instructed, hesitant in the background.

“It might –“

“I heard him.” She hugged one arm around herself, and her smile was frail as she assured the Director. “It’s fine, they don’t seem intent on restricting my access to the files as long as I’m onsite. Bobbi’s got them fairly well distracted. Besides, it can’t be easy, can it? An advanced nanoprocessor that small?”

If she knew Fitz – and she did – it was likely stressing him. At least he didn’t have to deal with her there on top of it all. Much as she disagreed with the man’s ideology, she was grateful Mack was there; he was capable of smoothing her partner out in ways she was no longer able to do.

“I’ll be in touch in the meantime,” she assured Coulson. “Unless there was anything else…?”

It was a credit to Phil’s sensitivity when he replied. He had his finger on the pulse of everything that was broken between her and Fitz, and even if he couldn’t accommodate it in the face of what needed to be done, his tone said he was sorry for it.

“No, not for tonight. Get some sleep, Simmons. And eat your vegetables. Not in that order, obviously.”

Jemma’s nose crinkled as a smile caught her unawares. They all took care of each other when they could, where they could, and how they could – which, in her mind, made them a team unquestioningly. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was how often they failed.

“Yes, Sir. Give my regards to – to everyone.”

The line went dead in her hands. It was a burner phone, but there was a data tree behind it that hid everything. Incoming, outgoing, all of it. She knew why it was a necessity, but it made her feel very untethered.

Her linens were crisp as she slipped under the sheets, missing something she knew she couldn’t go back to.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz's POV; lab time. (Ignore the obvious Jossing. And also the tech talk; I am no engineer, kisskiss.)

The green cyclops light of the electric kettle glowed in the corner. It had been Jemma’s, he thinks. She’d brought one to the Academy because she wasn’t ‘heathen enough to make a cuppa over a Bunsen burner.’ He remembered the dull steel shine of it.

It had definitely been Jemma’s, he thought as he looked over at it again. After a few moments’ indecision, he strode over to click the off button.

Mack watched the whole thing silently.

“Don’t,” Fitz told him, frowning down at the myriad of pieces spread out on the table.

“I didn’t say a word, man,” he argued. Fitz knew Mack didn’t have a problem pushing him -- but he also knew there was something the man was holding back, and the annoyance of it buzzed in his ears. He reached for one earlobe, tugging it thoughtfully before pointing at the disassembled gun across the table.

“You missed a spot.” He was fairly sure it was the first time the Night-Nights had been cleaned. Mack just rolled his eyes before starting another pass with the buffing cloth.

“So what are you building?”

"It’s..." Fitz's lips twisted, screwdriver tapping against the scarred Formica of the countertop as he searched for the word.

"Something for the plane?" The shake of Fitz's head was quick, and Mack tried again. "A weapon?"

"Important!" The word was too loud in the mostly-repaired enclosure of glass and equipment, and for a moment his face burned. “Camera. For the mission.”

Mack nodded knowingly, the confused creased between his eyebrows smoothing.

“For Simmons.”

It wasn’t really a query, but Fitz nodded anyway, short and sharp. For a long string of moments, he poured all his available focus into the task at hand. It wasn’t much, considering the concentration it took to keep his face reasonably schooled into something neutral, to keep his breaths even so that his movements were precise. The tiny technology in front of him demanded perfection.

The ghost of pressure at his shoulder almost made him jump, the familiar grip of her hand obvious even through his jumper. She’d been scarce while he’d had the real thing; it was only fitting she check in on him now.

Perfection was a favourite pursuit of hers, after all.

“Hand me that…” He pointed, snapping, reaching for the word more than he reached for the tool. For once, Mack didn’t wait for a verbal ID, setting it in his hand without comment. “… _wrench_. Thanks.”

Mack didn’t comment, and Simmons didn’t say anything, so Fitz kept his mouth shut and just worked. He’d found the key he needed to take it from a 16- to a 32-bit nano, but needed to create the included storage space to download files, as well as program the control logic with blink patterns to allow for handsfree operation.

At some point along the way, he realised there was no weight on his shoulder.

“She doesn’t like being undercover,” he stated, eyes still riveted to his work. He breathed a little easier now, when his frame neither leaned into or away from her touch.

“That’s the first time you’ve brought her up,” Mack observed, easily fitting the pieces back together. Fitz tried not to watch, jealous of the way the man’s right hand spoke effortlessly to his left. “You worried about her?”

“Have you met her?” He huffed, quietly incredulous, his wrench stilling. “You should’ve seen her the day she shot what’s-his-face. With a Night Night, but _still_.” Mack just looked at him in that way that said he’d understood less than half of what Fitz had just said, and it occurred to think about the timeline of events. That had been before everything. Mack had been just a mechanic then. And he'd been just an engineer.

“Uh… superior officer. Before HYDRA.” A beat passed, and the tiny metallic sounds of his tool resumed as he began to solder tiny pins in place. “Well, after, sure, _obviously_ , but before we knew about them.”

It still made him anxious to think about, that whatever they were fighting for – and he still wasn’t quite sure he could name it – was enough to change Simmons so blatantly. Rules were her everything. She’d always been more Hermione than she liked to admit, and now… now she was in D.C. pretending to be someone she wasn’t, all for the good of SHIELD.

It made sense on some level, he supposed. Science for her was about finding answers, and this gave her a way to do that.

But he knew how anxious she would be there. He’d seen it firsthand before every test, every presentation, every pressured situation in the history of their time at SciOps and beyond. He almost hoped she felt lonely on top of it all, not because he wanted her to be miserable, but because the Jemma he knew would have.

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” came the voice from the corner. He closed his eyes against the sound, but she didn’t touch him this time. Just watched.

“Y’know, it’s fine. She’s probably fine,” he drawled, loud enough to speak over her, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious that he was trying to convince himself it was true. But Mack looked skeptical when he chanced a look through his eyelashes, so he promptly dropped his gaze back to the processor.

 _Shit. Burnt flux._ A beginner’s mistake, but he’d been distracted.

“This one’s a goner,” he groused, dropping it into the bin beside him.

“She’s a smart girl,” was all Mack said as comfort as he reached for the box that held more components. He couldn't say things would be fine, that she would come back to them soon. Whatever else he was, he was too good a man to lie outright.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's POV; big trouble in D.C.

The next day at the office was much like the first, all files and paperwork and learning peoples’ names – which, luckily, she had quite a head for. There was no word from Coulson, but she knew she’d hear back when they had something, she supposed, loneliness gnawing at her heels again.

In the meantime, she had her orders.

Lunch was her most useful time. The lounge filled up, snippets of conversation floating past her, and the glasses worked perfectly well by facial recognition standards. So she spent her time peering around as often as she could. Her sandwich suffered for it – cream cheese and cucumber that was eventually tossed in the bin as an excuse to sweep her gaze across the tables in the back – but with any luck, she would have afforded the team a positive HYDRA match with the feed from her glasses.

That was exactly the case, as it turned out.

“There were three confirmed agents in the batch today,” Coulson informed her grimly.

“Three?!” She sat at her kitchen table, already in her pyjamas, hand curled around a mug of tea that was still too hot to drink.

“Adler, Bretan, and Wolvers are all HYDRA. It’s worse than we thought,” he confirmed – but she knew that. The distress was already rising, knowing they were late to yet another party, that she and Bobbi had effectively walked into the wolf’s den. It was far from a majority as far as votes went, but it was enough to influence the President, and definitely enough to back up threats to the rest of the advisors, urging them to vote in HYDRA’s favour.

“Fitz has the glasses ready, he thinks,” he tacked on, and all of a sudden Jemma thought she could take six HYDRA agents.

“He does?” Surprise and pride warred in her tone. That was fast for such a complex piece of machinery – but she’d known all along that he could do it. “He’s, ah… not there, is he?”

“No,” Coulson answered gently. “He’s given me the manual for the new functions, so I’ll be making a dead drop after sundown tomorrow. You like tacos?”

* * * * * * * * *

The third day was sheer hell.

Bobbi pulled her into the office nearly as soon as she was onsite. Not ‘ _pulled_ ’ as in ‘ _Dr. Simmons, when you have a moment_ ,’ but ‘ _pulled_ ’ as in –

“I’ve been made,” the blonde breathed fiercely as soon as the door was shut. “This office is clean. I just swept it, but don’t count on it after you walk out of that door in two minutes, I guarantee they will bug it again.”

"But we've only just got here!" Jemma lamented. This was what made undercover work so terrible. When things went wrong in the lab, the only variables to fix it were between her hands. This was so far from that, and it made adrenaline ramp in her system until she couldn’t ignore it, shaking as she processed their logical options.

“I’ve seen the paperwork; they’re making a case to transfer me, which means you’ll likely be kept on as the assistant to the new person.” Bobbi bit her lip, not wanting to sound dire, but the fact was that Simmons was made of sterner stuff than most people gave her credit for. “They will likely be HYDRA.”

Jemma clutched the files Bobbi thrust into her hands instinctively, knowledge once again the only lifeline she was left with.

“Where will you –“ She was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the man behind it didn’t wait for an invitation to open it and step in. Joshua Wolvers. His suit was cut so impeccably that it almost distracted from the air of utter entitlement he carried.

“If you’ll just draw up the paperwork for that adjunct,” Bobbi instructed, slipping seamlessly back into her role. “I’ll stop by at the end of the day to put my signature down.”

“Of course,” Jemma confirmed, sheer determination keeping her still and nonchalant as she nodded a hello and goodbye to the man who took up more room than he was worth. “If you’ll excuse me then, I can see you’re busy.”

It was a fight not to close her office door behind her and rest her head against the cool wood for a solid few minutes, but she could leave no tells here. Every inch of this building was under surveillance.

Unsurprisingly, Bobbi didn’t come by at the end of the day. Wolvers did.

“Miss Hunter is being relocated to our offices in Boston, so that she can work more closely with the scientists there. “ His smile was almost believably kind. “You have to ask the right kinds of questions if you’re going to base laws on the results, I say.”

Jemma’s nod was silent because she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Of course, that leaves the position here open.” And here it was, the part where they installed one of their own and she was left surrounded by snakes once again. “We thought you might be the best fit, actually, if you’re interested in staying on. You’d get a hell of a pay raise, of course.” He laughed at his own joke while Jemma tried to think of something – anything – to say.

“You don’t have to answer now! No, I wouldn’t ask that of you. Look.” He dipped two fingers into the inside pocket of his suit, handing her an expensive pressed linen business card. “Take the evening, think it over. Call me if you’ve got any questions. And if it sounds good, just show up tomorrow and ask for the key to your office.”

“My office,” she finally managed, and he smiled again.

“That’s right.”

“I… I’m _flattered_ ,” she breathed, finding her sea legs at last as she pocketed the card smoothly. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” Her smile was as warm as she could make it, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Good! I look forward to your answer, Jemma. I think you’d fit in well here.”

She grit her back teeth as he strolled from her office; while it wasn’t a secret considering her nameplate, she’d never introduced herself with her first name. It didn’t belong anywhere near his mouth as far as she was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While you're here, please note the tag changes! They're not relevant yet, but they will be in a chapter or so.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proper Fitzsimmons. Finally.

As soon as her front door shut, Jemma frantically dialed the Playground office.

_Ring, ring. Ring, ring._

“Pick up!” she fussed, jingling her keys frantically. She had no way of knowing if Bobbi was safe, and now she had no contact.

_Ring, ring. Ring, ring._

When the line clicked over to the dry cleaner’s message service that was their cover, just in case, she reined in the panic that threatened to swell.

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now…” She _hoped_ he’d heard by now. That would mean Bobbi was safe. “And I always thought I’d hold office one day, Sir, but as a… professor emeritus at the Academy or something! Call me back!” She made an uncharacteristic noise of frustration as she hung up the phone. Letting it glow in her hand, she sank into a kitchen chair. It would be okay; there were only a few hours left until Coulson’s scheduled dead drop, and she would have all her answers then. In the meantime, she would do what she always did: make tea.

…It would’ve been a fine idea if her hands weren’t shaking.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could do this. She could. She’d proven that in a much more dangerous environment, considering the lack of accountability on HYDRA’s own turf. But the fact was that she didn’t _want_ to prove it again. She wanted the absolutes that her lab could provide her, the knowledge that she was doing the most good that she was capable of (which, in her opinion, could only happen in a lab.)

And she wanted her best friend back.

* * * * * * * * *

Jemma all but jumped at the scrape of noise against glass. He was using her bedroom window, which was odd. She’d thought for sure her best bet would be to wait on the sofa, and she’d had the same page of a book open for the last half hour.

“Director Coulson! I’ve been –“

And then she stopped short, mouth clicking shut as she found Fitz standing by her open window in a tac vest, looking vaguely sick at the height he’d just managed. She knew the Quin must be close by, still cloaked and waiting with an extraction line – but she also knew what he was scared of. This was one of those things, and still… here he was.

“Hi,” she said softly, the first to break the ice after nearly a full minute of painfully silent staring.

“Your bedroom –“ he said at the same time, hand smoothing over the back of his neck. “I’ll just…”

“Tea? The kettle’s still hot, I mean –“

“ _Yes_. Yeah.” His shoulders dropped, grateful for a reason to follow her from the intimate space. It was hard, positively drowning in the marks of her personality after learning to live without her.

The tea was an easy task at least, all muscle memory and tradition, and he had a mug in hand before Jemma remembered to ask about Bobbi.

“She’s good, yeah. Said her cover was compromised because she was international. A da- dip- _diplomat_ with HYDRA ties made an ID on her.” The thought of the blonde sprinting to meet the sliver of visible cargo hold sprang to mind. He’d expected to see Jemma hot on her heels, and had panicked a little when she hadn’t been.

“The, ah… the base you were at –“ It still stings, how she’d left him for that, “—kept you a secret, I guess? Bobbi says they didn’t want to admit their mistake, so your cover should be good.”

His hands ached for something to do, some mechanical bit that was all logic and machinery – something that made far more sense than Simmons. It reminded him why he was here, and he dug in his pocket with his good hand, coming up with a nondescript glasses case.

“For you.”

“You’re sure she’s –“

“She’s fine, will you just try on the bloody glasses?” He was a bit nervous, having recalled all her specs from memory. Not only did they need to fit without giving her headaches, the sensory array needed to recognise her blink commands.

Neither were points that immediately sprang to Jemma’s mind, and she wasn’t successful in keeping the hurt from her eyes.

“Right,” she nodded, understanding then. “Business it is.”

“Yes,” he agreed too quickly, her meaning sinking in a beat later. “I mean… no, Jemma –“

“It’s fine,” she cut him off.

“It’s really anything but at this point,” he answered dryly, and she had no argument for that one, so she turned for more milk in her tea, using the moment to pull herself together. She was always transparent like that with him, and she hated it at the moment.

“You look –“ His eyebrows creased, realising too late that he really had no business telling her how she looked, even if the frames suited her. She knew how he felt. “Uh, the… functions,” his fingers snapped and moved, plucking for words as he tried to tell her.

“You only get 60 second of recording time before you’ve got to upload it. Two blinks starts the recording. You can do that as many time as you’d like, really, but it only stores the most…” The grasp of his hands was frustrated even, and he breathed out. “It only keeps the last one you did.”

“The most recent,” she queried in a way that was exactly zero percent question.

“Yes.” It wasn’t fair, that she had all the words and he was left with all the things he still needed to explain.

But it was reality.

“You said I’d need to upload…?” she prompted again gently.

“Right. You need to be in range of a wireless connection, and you just…” It was easier to illustrate, and he indicated the screw on the side, which was in actuality a tiny button. “And we’ll...”

“…nab it from the Cloud,” she finished, understanding. “Got it.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, remembering his teacup with the gratefulness than came with having something to hide behind. But before the silence could grow awkward, his comm beeped. Jemma watched his head cock slightly with the movement that suggested a voice in his ear.

“You’ve got to –“

“—go, yeah,” he agreed. This wasn’t how he wanted to leave things, but the few shared sentences were going to have to be enough. They looked at each other silently for a moment, words poised on the tips of their tongues.

A rap at the window broke the spell and he jumped, good hand going instinctively for the LocTite carabiner that would secure him safely to the drop line. Another control activated the outside of his vest to show the same cloaking panels the Bus used, and in that moment he’d never felt further from the Fitz she knew.

“Stay safe, would ye?” His accent peeked out from behind his nerves, thicker than ever, and she nodded instinctively.

“You, too.”

It was the last they said to each other before he was flying from her window, the fuzzy edges of his cloaking vest disrupting what little she could see of the stars with all the ambient light.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's POV; the jig is up.

In the name of service to SHIELD – because she still believed that belonging to something in service of seeking answers meant more than the safety of quitting – Jemma showed up the next morning, lipstick a bit brighter than usual, pen tucked neatly in her attaché, glasses perched on her nose.

Wolvers was waiting, and his face broke into a smile at the sight of her.

“Knew you’d take the jump,” he congratulated her with a clap on the shoulder. Jemma fought the urge to squirm away.

“Yes, well… you only live once.”

Wolvers looked like the thought had only just occurred to him.

“I suppose you do.” His knuckles rapped her desktop as he stood, re-buttoning his suit jacket. “You won’t regret this. I took the liberty of hiring someone on to be your assistant; Paloma has a law degree, so she’ll be indispensable as far as steering you through the bureaucracy of it all.” He paused, thinking. “You should come to lunch with us, meet everyone. My team is very excited to have your input.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jemma demurred, “but I have so much work to do, I’m –“

“You know what they say about all work and no play, Jemma.” Wolvers looked every inch like he was doing her a favour, and she hated him for it. “I’ll have our standing reservations changed. It’s this little French place around the corner; you can meet Paloma over brie.”

He was out the door before she could say no again.

* * * * * * *

To her credit, she tried to be out of the office. But a well-timed phone call kept her in her seat longer than she’d planned, and she was just gathering all the grant applications she ‘intended to file’ when Joshua Wolvers let himself into her office.

“You’re not ready! Here, let me help.” He swept in, easing the stack of file folders from her hands and depositing them neatly in her outbox. “Your assistant can deal with those after lunch.”

Jemma smiled thinly. This was, after all, part of her job: meet people, find out who was connected to who and which path HYDRA seemed likely to take to influence the President…

She had just planned on going about it in a safer way.

“Let me grab my coat,” she said decisively, stepping around the opposite side of the desk to the coat tree in the corner. She knew it was mostly futile, but she liked having the illusion that there was a path to escape, somewhere to run.

Upon exiting her office, that hope quickly vanished as she realised the extent of her company for the afternoon. Benjamin Adler, Office of Public Safety, confirmed HYDRA. Bradley Bretan III, Committee on Education, confirmed HYDRA. Marisol Juegas, Committee on Transportation, now a HYDRA suspect, and –

“Jemma Simmons, meet Paloma Bridges. She interned in Government Operations before grad school at Berkeley gave her a change of heart.” Wolvers managed to resist rolling his eyes, but just barely.

“It’s _Dr._ Simmons, actually,” she corrected primly, offering a hand to the diminutive woman beside him with a smile. Not that Paloma noticed; she was obviously besotted with Joshua.

 _Likely another HYDRA convert,_ then, Jemma thought grimly.

“So pleased to meet you,” Paloma greeted, her accent surprisingly British. The unexpected familiarity of it made homesickness rattle around like a bell inside her, the sound ringing even after the movement had stopped.

“And you. We’ve got quite the workload when we’re finished with lunch.” Jemma checked her watch, canting her head toward the door. “Speaking of which -- shall we?”

* * * * * * *

It went on like that for a week. Nowhere to hide, no excuses that wouldn’t hinder her ability to do her job -- just her and the wolves.

“The new glasses are great, Simmons, keep it up.”

“Well don’t tell me, Sir. Tell _him_.” She paced her apartment as she talked tonight. The mission’s timetable had always been a little up in the air, because even in D.C., presidential visits weren’t announced far enough ahead to plan for. It was a security risk. But her new ‘friends’ assured her that he would be in the building on Wednesday – though they wouldn’t say how they knew, dodging the question both times she’d asked.

Five more days. She could do five more days.

“You can do this,” Coulson assured her gently.

“And you wonder why all the rumours come from that you can read minds.” Her nervous smile carried through her voice down the line. There was light at the end of the tunnel, and soon she would be back where she belonged.

 _…Not that that was without its problems_ , she thought, thinking of Fitz and hoping the rumours were indeed just that.

“Right, well... I’ve nothing else for you now. I’ll try to get as much hard data on the group as I can before then.” Wednesday could not come fast enough.

“Everything you can get is helpful, but remember the goal here – I need you in that room when Wolvers meets the President.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Sir.”

“See that it’s not.” There was a knock on his end, and the shuffle that followed told her it was Skye. “I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead in her hands before she could say goodnight. She expected it – he was a very busy man these days – but as usual, it reminded her of all the reasons undercover work wasn’t for her.

…Five more days.

* * * * * * *

Monday was more of the same:

“…And that’s how I got through Global Litigation.”

“You’re shitting us. You slept with your professor? And it _worked_?”

Wolvers smoothed his tie with one hand, his smile bright and even. _Cosmetic work_ , Jemma thought. It had to be.

“The 4.0 on my transcript doesn’t lie,” he bragged.

“Yes, well,” she commented, nose wrinkling in what was clear distaste. That part wasn’t feigned, at least. “It _was_ Stanford...”

There were laughs around the table. The frat mentality had been hard to adjust to – she’d stuck out like a sore thumb at first – but she’d been able to play it off as melting frigidity as she learned their dynamic. This constant banter and overshare was a large part of it.

“And you never slept with any of your professors, is that it?” Joshua raised his eyebrows in clear challenge. “Because that 4.3 is mighty impressive.”

He’d looked over her cover background. She knew because she actually had a 4.4, but there was still a flare of anxiety that he’d checked.

“It was Oxford,” she replied smoothly, chin lifting a degree as if that explained everything.

The others thought it did, and Ben clapped her on the shoulder in congratulations as their lunch was delivered.

* * * * * * *

On Tuesday there was a car waiting.

“We’re going somewhere new?” she questioned as Paloma herded her from the office. “Shouldn’t we be buckling down today?” Her voice rose just a little, good girl sensitivities prickling. “You know… considering?”

The presidential visit was still only a rumour, and she kept her voice down at the mention. Paloma just rolled her eyes.

“Joshua’s staying late tonight to prep. We can too, if it makes you feel better. But you’ve got to eat sometime, and there’s this Greek place about ten minutes away.”

Jemma took a breath, centering herself. This was part of the mission; the proposals on her desk, while very real themselves, were not.

“No, of course. We may not even need the extra time – I’m just nervous.” She shook out her hands with a smile. “I like to have all my ducks in a row.”

Paloma didn’t say anything, feigning as much agreement as she could (which wasn’t much) as they headed for the towncar. On a whim she blinked at the license plate, nabbing a recording. _Never can be too careful_ , she figured. Wolvers was already waiting inside, and she ducked in beside him, a greeting on the tip of her tongue as she reached for the button at the side of her glasses.

But she never got that far. The prick of a hypodermic needle was familiar at her bicep, and then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is another friendly notice to please watch the tags. Shit's about to get real for Jemma, and we've got some quality Fitz angst coming up. And more Mack! Like, 200% more Mack. Stay tuned, xxx


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Fitz and Simmons separately. (And Mack. More Mack coming. Pinky promise. Wow, I love Mack.)

Jemma woke to the gentle back and forth of a car winding down the road. She was slumped over, Paloma holding her up as best she could while Joshua flipped through a message on his phone. Under different circumstances, Jemma would have felt bad for the woman; it was obvious he didn't care that she was sitting a foot away.

“Oh, good. You’re back with us,” he greeted, storing the device away in a suit pocket.

Jemma just blinked. The glow of the screen was fuzzy, the movement outside the windows as trees passed was almost unrecognisable, and though she was certainly conscious, her limbs weren’t responding yet.

Not that it mattered. She had no plan, and very little hope: her glasses were _gone_.

“That’ll wear off,” Wolvers reassured her, no doubt seeing the panic in her eyes. She tried to smile sarcastically, but only the corners of her mouth moved. The frustration made tears spring to her eyes.

“Jemma, Jemma, Jemma,” he chided, reaching for an honest-to-god handkerchief to wipe her tears. “You of all people should know that many dendrotoxins are harmless once their effects wear off.” He stowed the rectangle of fabric away as he talked, uncaring of the tears that fell after.

“We just needed to get your out of the city without making a scene, I’m sure you understand.” He nodded toward her wrists, and for the first time she was able to make out the thick strap of opaque plastic there. “Another formality. You’re lucky SHIELD didn’t equip you with any training that might make a kidnapping attempt difficult; this could have been much worse for you.”

“W-why?” she managed to whisper, glaring at him through the kaleidoscope the tears made of her eyes.

“Why?” he asked, mock-incredulous. “Don’t you see your own worth, _Dr_. Simmons?”

She knew he was mocking her, knew she had very little chance of assisting in her own recovery, knew that her hope lay in the delivery of a miracle. And still she stayed silent, watching as he realised she would not play his game.

“My team here saw the same thing in you that our former office saw: a brilliant but impressionable mind. And like them, we thought it would be convenient if we could win you over.” His eyes were terrifyingly cold, but his smile never faded he regarded her, satisfied he’d won already. She never saw the backhand coming.

“HYDRA doesn’t appreciate making the same mistake twice.”

* * * * * * *

“Here’s what we know.” Coulson looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, which was true. He’d hoped to grab a few hours this afternoon, but when the press release had come through after lunch he knew his hopes were dashed.

“The official story is that a large section of advisors went missing this afternoon. Patrols are out looking already, but we have no way of knowing how many of those are HYDRA-funded. Even if they’re not, you all know they’re not equipped for the job.”

Fitz leaned against the wall, ghost white, his nails already bitten down too short from the combination of worry and helplessness. Mack stood nearby, splitting his attention between him and the Director.

“The good news is that HYDRA is by this point well aware that Jemma is valuable, so chances are good that she’s still alive.”

“Alive, sure. Then why haven’t we gotten an upload?” Fitz spat, shaking where he stood as his mind ran away imagining what condition she was actually in. The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably, but Coulson didn’t comment. He knew where the engineer was coming from, as unhelpful as the pessimism was.

“Skye has narrowed down the list of properties registered to suspicious figures. Out of town licenses, limited background facts available, that sort of thing. We’ve cross referenced that list with the locations HYDRA could conceivably keep a low profile from, and this one sticks out. May, Hunter – you’ll be dropped here.” A holographic map flickered into view, red beacon illustrating the drop site. “It’s not far from a known hiking trail, so that will inform your cover, should you come across anyone. Intel before confrontation, people. We don’t want want them to spook and move her. Bobbi—“

The blonde was instantly at attention, her kinetic energy barely hidden.

“Any cover you might have with HYDRA is blown, so I’ll need you here with Skye calling audibles.”

Her eyebrows knit closer together, overbitten lips twitching toward a frown, and she spoke before Skye could jump in with her own objection.

“But you--?”

“Will be in the field. Mack, Fitz, and I will take the south approach. We’ll come from here –“

Another beacon appeared on the map, but it didn’t matter. Fitz had already pushed away from the wall, shaking his head, his voice acidic.

“Bugger off. I’m a liability in the field and you all know it.” If there was tech to be sorted, that would be different – but there wasn’t. It was just rocks and guns and Jemma. Somewhere. Possibly. He couldn’t even think straight.

“Fitz.” May said far more than just his name with that syllable, and he heard it all. He just didn’t _care_.

“ _Melinda_ ,” he shot back, whirling on the room. He was too worked up to express himself linearly, and he shook out his hands in frustration. “I just –“ He could help. He _could_. Just not out there. He had to lock down his environment and create the best chance he had at being functional.

“I’ll try for a, a, a… a lock on the tech, maybe I can reverse engineer some sort of connection if the glasses haven’t been destroyed.” All his words fell out in a rush once he was past the stumbling block, so it sounded a little manic. But as far as strengths went, it was his best bet, and he nodded confidently, eyes lifting from the floor to Coulson’s face. The Director was grim, but after a moment he nodded back, and Fitz took it as permission to turn to leave.

The sound of Mack moving to follow was immediately apparent.

“ _No_ ,” he insisted a little too forcefully, holding a hand out to indicate he needed his space. Mack, bless him, spoke Fitz well enough now to know what he meant – even if there was a hurt on his face. As helpful as the mechanic was, and as grateful as he was for him, the whole of the Playground wasn’t enough space for him right now.

The hermetic seal of the lab doors shut out all the sounds of planning, and he just stood there for a moment, the brightness of the environment an assault on his senses. The laser focus of his plan slipped away from him at the confrontation of all that space...

In the next instant, he lashed out, punching the wall.

The instant after that, he recoiled, shaking his hand on instinct to try and dull the pain but actually making it worse.

 _Oh shit. Maybe I’ve broke it_.

He paled at the thought, not because he cared in that instant whether his hand would be out of commission or not, but because Jemma was the one who would know how to set it. That was all the anxiety he had the heart for, and he sank against the wall until he was sitting on the tile, arms on his knees, watching the quiet room.

In front of the security monitors, Mack frowned. He knew cogs and springs and motors; this was something he couldn't fix. When Fitz remained unmoving, he called Coulson over.

“Take care of him,” the Director instructed softly after a few silent moments of watching the feed. It wasn’t because Phil couldn’t be bothered, but because Mack was the best man for the job right now. The engineer just nodded grimly, never taking his eyes off the screen as Coulson stepped away to address May and Hunter.

“You two. Suit up.”


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV; Jemma's time in captivity and Fitz's attempts to help/process.

It was a delicate balance between how long Fitz needed to be alone and how long Mack had before he had to be in place and ready to go. In the end, his timing was probably wrong – but Fitz’s scowl when the doors to the lab opened was halfhearted, and he took it as a good sign. He was quiet for a long moment. They both were. But eventually inertia played out, and Mack knew he had to get the ball rolling again.

“Makes more sense, calling ‘em crisps,” he said simply, offering Fitz tube half-empty tube of Pringles. The scientist looked at him like he was mad, but after a moment stuck his hand in.

“That’s the spirit,” Mack encouraged quietly. He knew how serious the situation was, but he also knew that progress began with a functional Fitz.

“Yeah, well… it’s not a hunger strike, is it?” The Scotsman’s tone was still bitter, but he looked at Mack with something like an apology in his eyes. Whatever he found staring back at him was enough to help him find his center, and he slowly rose from the floor, forgetting and putting pressure on his hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore, biting down on his bottom lip at the acute ache. Mack said nothing, turning away to crack an instant ice pack from the first aid kit without comment.

“Yeah, cheers,” Fitz deadpanned darkly, holding it close until the pain receded far enough to let him _think_. “You’ve got to go soon, right?”

“That’s the plan.” He was working with a limited set of information, but he knew he didn’t have long.

“Yeah, alright.” He nodded, thinking a moment more, stretching his fingers experimentally. But the pain was a disconnect from his already-unstable train of thought, and he stilled them again.

“Would you rig a, an, uh... an antenna to scan for SHIELD frequency 616?” He looked at the mechanic tentatively, afraid to put hope behind his own genius. “I’ll write an algorithm to scan every thir...thirty seconds. A set it and forget it type deal – it’ll let us know if it comes back with a positive.”

Mack nodded, moving smoothly into the task. He was unhurried but efficient, precise and silent. Fitz was the same for a long moment, and Mack could hear the way his fingers shook against the keyboard.

* * * * * * *

“You should know by now why you’re here, Dr. Simmons.” The way she looked at him made Wolvers scowl, and he waved a hand at Paloma.

“Find her damn glasses, she needs to be able to see.” Jemma’s heart leapt into her throat, and she was so concentrated on not letting her hope show on her face that she nearly missed Joshua’s words.

“The truth serum.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We know that SHIELD’s little sodium pentathol cocktail works. Unfortunately, one industrious little loyalist had the foresight to delete the files as we were storming the castle, so we’re left without a recipe.” His grit his teeth, obviously annoyed.

“Obviously, we have ways of making you comply. But the thing is – it takes time. Sometimes all we need is information. Information we’d rather not spend a week brainwashing someone for, follow?”

Jemma just glared.

“I’m sure I don’t have to say that we could do the same for you. So we could do this the easy way…” He canted his head toward the lab, enclosed in glass and completely without privacy. “Or we could take a trip to the compliance machine before we put you to work.” He spread his hands illustratively, pleased with himself. “Up to you.”

Paloma chose that moment to bustle back in, glasses in one hand. Jemma took them gratefully, pushing them back onto her face with an awkward gesture, seeing as her wrists were still bound. Tears shined behind the glass, but her thumb brushed the button on the side.

And she prayed.

“Let me into the lab,” she decided, her voice small but resolute.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Wolvers boomed, smiling as he stepped in to clip the zip tie that bound her hands.

* * * * * * *

“You know our team is ruthless, Turbo,” he said. It wasn’t an empty platitude; he wouldn’t do that to the man. “Bobbi? Has got a kill count far higher than she’d like you to believe.”

“Bobbi’s not going to be _out there_ , is she.” It was more cutting than he’d meant it to be, but he couldn’t find it in himself to apologise at a time like this.

“May’s is more than double hers,” Mack countered, even and quiet. He didn’t have clearance to the file, but Bobbi had always been jealous, and that told him enough.

Fitz had suspected as much – and he wouldn’t admit it, but it calmed him a little. War was not a pursuit of his, but in that moment?

He hoped May got to _every single person_ who’d assisted in Jemma’s kidnapping.

* * * * * * *

“I assume you’ve already searched the public dump of SHIELD files for coded backups of the formula?”

“Hmm?” Wolvers looked up from a message on his phone, eyebrows knit together.

“The backups.” Jemma rolled her eyes like she was anything but terrified. “They didn’t exactly have time to choose what they put out there. There might be research or a partial structure for it available. At the very least, it would tell me what they were doing wrong.”

Joshua glared at her sharply, as if he didn’t believe her attempt at being helpful. Which was fair, considering she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“ _Really_ ,” she tried again, exasperated with herself and near tears. “90% of science is letting your failures inform you.”

“And the other 10%?” he prompted quickly.

“Sheer dumb luck,” she answered, borrowing a phrase from one of the most influential figures in her life as she lifted her chin a fraction. Wolvers contemplated her for a moment, assessing – but quickly decided she posed no threat to him.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, already bored. “Get the girl a computer and see what she can dig up in the public archives.”

Jemma nodded, trying not to smile. But it was easy in the end; her life felt very much on the line.

* * * * * * *

Fitz’s mind couldn’t let go of looped hypotheticals, one grim ‘what if’ after another as he desperately tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. He used to be able to do that, to multitask, but his mind had narrowed from six lanes to two since the acci – since the _attack_. There was no use calling it anything other than what it was.

He knew that now.

An alert on his computer jarred him from the little progress he’d made, and it took him a few seconds to process that it was a positive hit on the algorithm he’d set into motion.

“She’s alive.” There was surprise in his voice, but it was there in black and white. In 1’s and 0’s, once you broke it down to its simplest possible form, really. A picture of the license plate, obviously taken from the diminutive height of Jemma’s eye level, and his voice roared to life as he stretched for the keys.

“…She’s alive!”

Mack was the first to duck into the lab to see what the fuss was about, his hands busy buckling his tac gear into place as his mind travelled a different path, and for once Fitz didn’t even have it in himself to be jealous.

“ _Jemma_.” he explained. As if his heart would leap into his throat for anyone else. “She’s –“ He spun the computer screen to illustrate the picture, running both hands through his hair. The posture freed up valuable space between his ribs, and he left his fingers in his curls because it felt like he had a chance in hell at breathing.

“Just—tell them. I’ll let you know when I get anything else.”

 _When_ he got anything else. Jemma had taught him faith in his abilities once, and the flowers she’d planted still bloomed.

“Come on…” He pleaded with the machine, equal parts desperate and reverent as he tapped the screen like he could make it speak to him. “Give me anything, Simmons.”

* * * * * * *

In the end, she barely got past the front page of Google before an agent burst in.

“Surveillance in the area has identified Agent Coulson himself, Sir, as well as Agent 33’s double.”

 _Agent 33 is the double_ , Jemma scoffed mentally, biting down sharply on the bow of her lower lip to remember not to say anything out loud.

“Damn.” Wolvers hopped to attention, pulling a gun from the back of his waistband and pointing it at her. She knew they had the specs for them, but it was no NightNight. “Time to move, genius. Someone get her a tablet!”

In the commotion, no one mentioned tying her up again, and soon the technology was pushed into her hands as Wolvers indicated a reinforced exit door.

“And you’d better have all the research you need by the time we get where we’re going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Simmons idolises McGonagall.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took forever! I lost the nearly-complete finale when my old computer died, and I moped around on writing a new version.
> 
> I'm on the fence about writing a NSFW sequel to this. We'll see what happens. Thoughts?

This was the second time the cargo hold had been lowered for her like this, with a crowd of people on the other side, a myriad of emotions written across their faces. Skye was the first to move, crushing her inside arms she knew to be honed by Agent May.  
  
She was the only one who moved at all, though, and for a moment Jemma wanted to slink off, to examine how many sacrifices she was at fault for, what lengths they’d gone through to get her back. She would have to pass just by Trip on her way to the bunks, so two fingers raised in a shaky salute – and then he was there, too, close and familiar and radiating gratefulness. Jemma’s arms wound around his neck instinctively, holding on until she was sure her knees would hold her.  
  
Coulson was next, tight and succinct. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were gentle as he smoothed his tie down after.  
  
“I am _so glad_ to have you back.” It was as naked a statement as she’d heard from him, diplomacy buried under far too many layers of relief. May stepped in, a tiny hand on one of Jemma’s shoulders echoing the sentiment without a word.  
  
May had been the one to reach her in the field after taking out the driver of the car through the passenger side window. They'd run off the road, and May had pulled Jemma from the backseat, stuffing her into a bulletproof vest and arming her before pointing her in Coulson's direction and telling her to RUN.  
  
She hadn't stuck around to be told twice.  
  
May, on the other hand, had pulled a spare gun and turned to stalk Wolvers to the treeline. He was in custody now; she hadn't asked about the rest of the compound. She wasn't sure she was going to.  
  
Jemma locked eyes with Bobbi next, unable to hold back a small sob. The woman was whole and well and there.  
  
“I was so worried after you left,” she babbled into blonde hair, not sure her feet were actually touching the ground. Bobbi kissed her forehead, fierce and possessive.  
  
“I tried so hard to get to you, but blowing your cover would have been the most dangerous position I could have put you in. Their team had better response times than ours did; we would have been surrounded within the hour.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Jemma soothed, still holding on. “It’s just so good to see you in one piece, is all.” She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she’d had doubts they would have told her if Bobbi had been taken, not wanting to compromise her in the field. It was probably for the best; as much progress as she’d made, her lying skills were not world class.  
  
The embrace with Bobbi lasted a long moment, and when she felt her trainers meet the floor again, she had to wipe her eyes against the sleeve of her jumper. Skye sniffled sympathetically.  
  
“You’re a harder lady to kill than most I’ve met, Dr. Simmons,” Hunter drawled, his version of a compliment she was sure.  
  
“It’s always the quiet ones,” she offered thickly, eyes rimmed red as she held out a hand to shake. He thought about it for a moment, taking the handshake before using it to pull her into the wrap of his arms.  
  
Jemma closed her eyes, letting herself be led. Even this was a shelter after the week she’d had. When she stepped back, a tight smile reining in the rest of her tears, there were two people left.  
  
Mack moved first, offering a massive hand. She took it, using her other to sandwich his between hers.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered sincerely. No doubt he had been instrumental in keeping Fitz together – because for all their new differences, she knew she’d be devastated if anything happened to him. She could only assume this had been hard for them both.  
  
If the mechanic needed clarification, he didn’t ask for it, simply holding onto her until she could gather her courage and her face to turn to the last person waiting.  
  
“Fitz…” she began, his name soft in her mouth. She would never know what it felt like to be the one who’d sacrificed a part of who they were for the other, but she knew what it was like to be without words; there were simply none that could cover this moment. “I—“  
  
“No,” he cut her off, his accent curiously thick again. “No, it doesn’t matter.”  
  
And then his arms were around her, the wet of his tears just discernable against her neck, her own nose tucked against the thick neckband of his jumper as he held her.  
  
“Jemma.” Her name was one he never stumbled over. “I thought –“  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” she reminded him gently, aware that the rest of the team was making a quick exit. “I’m here now.”  
  
Mack’s hand rested on Fitz’s shoulder, and he reached back for it after a moment, recognising the weight and size as different than the one he’d grown used to.  
  
“Go on, Turbo.”  
  
The encouragement made Fitz crane back to look at the mechanic. Mack just nodded, confirming what Fitz had fought so hard to keep from being obvious. It was what broke the dam of stubborn resistance in him, and when he turned back to Jemma he pulled her close with the fierce necessity of needing to know that she was there. That she was whole.  
  
Mack didn’t say anything more, following the rest of the team out. The hangar was too quiet then, but Jemma couldn’t bring herself to give up the handfuls of knit she had. He was her anchor in this moment, and she pressed her face to his shoulder, her nose nudged a little crooked with the insistence of the snuggle.  
  
“I thought we’d lost ye,” he admitted, his voice muffled in the cloud of her hair.  
  
She’d thought she was lost, too, but the words to agree couldn’t find their way past the lump in her throat. In their place she just nodded, hot and silent tears soaking into the fibres of his jumper. After a moment, he noticed the subtle shake of her shoulders that gave her away.  
  
“Jemma, no… don’t,” he soothed, pulling back just enough to duck to catch her eyes. Both hands lifted to wipe tear tracks from her face.  
  
Both hands.  
  
It was completely hypocritical of him considering the state of his own face, and she smiled through it all at the thought.  
  
“Hey, there we go.” Only then did he scrub the back of one hand against his eyes, blinking away the rest of the tears. It made his eyelashes wet, and they looked ridiculously dark against his pale skin. “Right as rain, yeah?”  
  
Jemma nodded, sniffling as she put on a bright smile to will away the tears.  
  
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m back.”  
  
Back not only to the team, but back exactly where she wanted to be.  
  
“Fitz, I –“  
  
“I couldn’t stand it if—“  
  
“I need to –“  
  
“ _Jemma_.”  
  
The harsh edge of his tone startled her into silence, and she tried to swallow as she searched his face for a clue of what he was thinking.  
  
“I just… I’m trying to say that I need you. Here, specifically.” His gaze dropped for a second to where they still held onto each other, awkward grips at forearms their clumsy attempt to reassure the other.  
  
“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Her voice was a whisper, the words not a secret but still meant only for him. There were a dozen things fueling her at the moment: the simple pleasure of the way he held onto her, his touch reading safety after so many days of threat; the sheer inertia of shock at being home (and this was home to her, for better or worse); the complexities of the look he fixed her with, requiring her decade of knowledge on the subject of him to parse.  
  
But her main motivation was the fact that HYDRA had given her plenty of time to regret all the unfinished chapters of her life, and his was the sentence she had kept re-reading.  
  
So she stretched carefully onto her tiptoes and kissed him, keeping her eyes open.  
  
Predictably, he made a noise of confusion against her mouth, still managing to be recognisably Scottish about it, before his lips parted for her. His tongue swept out, tentative but deliberate as he watched her the same way she watched him, and unsteady hands found her waist.  
  
For once, she didn't blame Ward for their shakiness.


End file.
